A Poetic Response to Boston

One of the biggest advantages of being a writer is having an immediate way to vent emotions. I had planned to take this poem draft to my writers workshop last night, but the workshop was cancelled. So, you can be my workshop! Let me know what you think, if there's something you'd change, whatever. Thanks!

For Jaleeza, at 33^rd and Troost

She watches TV, sprawled on her tummy,

on the floor. Mommy says it’s safer

than the couch. That’s all she says

but Jaleeza knows

stray bullets fly high.

She hugs the floor and worries.

Her mom, on the couch,

her brother in the kitchen.

Where’s the baby?

She tracks their movements.

You never know. You never know.

Jaleeza watches the news

prostrate on the floor.

She prays Martin wasn’t scared

before the bombing.

He was 8. Same as her.

She stares at Boston’s finish-line panic,

over and over, wondering why

those people didn’t know

crowds are dangerous, strangers will kill you,

and the world is a marathon of terror.

© Jan Sokoloff Harness, April 2013